


Earnestly Yours

by ronans



Series: Prompts [14]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: 5x03, Alternative Outcome, M/M, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-03
Updated: 2015-02-03
Packaged: 2018-03-10 09:27:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3285227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ronans/pseuds/ronans
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><strong> Prompt:</strong> Ian finding the picture of him in the bathroom when he was cleaning in 5x3 and then asking Mickey about it</p><p><strong>Prompt:</strong> Ian finding the picture of himself in the bathroom and asking Mickey about it</p><p><strong>Prompt:</strong> Ian finds a photograph that Mickey keeps of his mother</p>
            </blockquote>





	Earnestly Yours

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Earnestly Yours - Keaton Henson  
> (Called it this because I listened to it on repeat as I wrote this)  
> And, yeah, we all wanted Ian to find the photo, so thank you anons for prompting me :)

Two hours in and Ian’s finally moving on to the bathroom. Anyone’d think having free reign of the Milkovich house for hours on end would be fascinating, but Ian just finds himself feeling more and more disgusted that he’s spent an extensive amount of time living here amongst this degree of filth. And a baby being raised in this environment?

He’d sort of wanted to save the bathroom until last, figuring that if anywhere was going to be caked in years and years’ worth of grime, it was going to there. But he’d ultimately decided that his and Mickey’s room was last on the list, and he’d rather ease himself out of this mammoth cleaning spree with the most ordered part of the house (which had been mostly down to Ian anyway).

Armed with a toilet brush and several new bottles of bleach he’d forked out for with some of the money Mickey had scored from his latest scam, Ian marches into the bathroom with determination. He dumps the bottles on the floor and inhales the stale air, wondering where to even _start_. He figures sorting through the small stack of old magazines next to the cracked toilet is as good a place as any.

Ian actually thinks he might throw up; there are _several_ visible greasy handprints on the outside covers of the magazines.

‘Jesus,’ he mutters under his breath, cautiously picking the pile up, using only his fingernails wherever possible. He’s so focused on transporting the magazines from the bathroom to the trash bag outside of the room with as little contact as possible that he completely misjudges the width of the door and ends up slamming his foot into the doorjamb.

‘Fuck!’ The magazines fall to the floor as Ian drops them in favour of clutching at his throbbing toes. ‘ _Ow_ , what the fuck!’

He squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath, running his hands through his hair as the short lived pain practically disappears. He sighs and bends down to pick up the magazines again when he sees some glossy paper sticking half out of one of them. Ian furrows his brow.

‘Coupons in a fucking gun magazine, now that’s just-‘ His breath catches in his throat as he pulls out the crinkled photograph fully from between the pages.

He remembers dicking around with Mandy’s stolen camera a couple of months before he’d… Well. Before he’d left. He’d worn a beanie he had found on the floor of Mickey’s room the day beforehand, not that Mandy had known whose it was. And now he’s looking down at one of the pictures they’d decided to print and the paper’s wavy and crinkled from the abuse of someone’s touch, of someone taking it out and running their fingers over it, of someone raking their eyes over every inch of it to prevent the loneliness and the missing from swallowing them up.

Ian lets himself smile fondly as he smoothes out the wrinkles of the photograph before ruining it and folding it up to put in his back pocket for later. He knows the implications of this, and he knows Mandy wouldn’t have been the one hiding a photograph of him within the disgusting depths of the gun magazines.

He decides to keep a closer look out for photographs in particular as he continues to clean the bathroom until he can see his face reflected off the toilet bowl and then moves onto his and Mickey’s room.

Endless trinkets and empty condom boxes litter the floor on Mickey’s side of the bed and old socks, used tank tops and half-drunk beer bottles line themselves up along a shelf no one uses for books. Ian sighs. It makes him a little sad that this had actually been the cleanest part of the house.

One full trash bag later and Ian’s on his knees, reaching under the Gallagher-Milkovich bed and into the unknown. He smiles to himself, though, because everywhere else around him in this room now screams order. He can forget about the poorer job he’s done for the rest of the house, because there’s only so much he can do in the short space of time he’s had the house empty of people.

His fingers come into contact with a practically fossilised apple, and Ian doesn’t know how fucking long it’s been down there because for as long as he’s known both Mickey and Mandy, there’s never been fruit in the house, the only thing even _close_ to it being the occasional box of wine Ian’ll bring over when there’s no other alcohol available to consume.

He wrinkles his nose and quickly disposes of it in the bin liner, kind of wishing he’d worn gloves.

Ian’s just about to stand up and brush off his hands when he feels a metal box under his fingertips. He draws his eyebrows together and lets out a small noise as he stretches his arm out further to get it. The tin is scuffed and beaten, just like a lot of other things in their home, and Ian easily pops the latch and peers inside.

It’s a meagre pile of photographs but Ian feels like he’s hit the jackpot, praying for images of younger Milkoviches that he can hold over their heads. He thinks it’s pretty unlikely; Terry doesn’t exactly come across as the kind of father that took the time to document the fucking landmark moments in his children’s lives with a Polaroid.

There are three black and white images in total and two were quite clearly taken by Mickey himself as a much younger child. Ian smiles fondly at the two pictures of Mandy as a little girl out in the Milkovich front yard in a ripped sack of a dress, dirt on her knees and dark, messy hair cascading down her back. In the second Polaroid, you can see half of Mickey’s blurred face in the frame as he holds the camera out in front of him, making sure to keep Mandy in the picture. Ian can even see Iggy sat on the front steps of the house.

The third photo is of someone Ian doesn’t recognise. The woman in the picture is quite young and something about her face just matches the ones Ian sees every day with Mickey and Mandy. She’s not extraordinarily beautiful, but there’s something so familiar about her that projects the feeling of safety. And Ian’s just so used to scrapes and bruises on those he loves that the darker shade of grey on a patch on her cheek almost escapes his gaze. He frowns and brushes his finger over her skin, intrigued. Again, he pockets it and makes a note to bring it up with Mickey later.

It’s good timing, really, that as soon as he walks outside with a box of objects from Mickey’s room to add to the growing pile of shit in the front garden, Mickey returns home, asking about what the fuck Ian’s doing.

After Ian mentions ridding the bathroom of a lifetime’s worth of filth, Mickey looks a little panicked, and now Ian knows why. Mickey relaxes after they move past it, though, assuming Ian didn’t find the photograph, and it only solidifies the thought in Ian’s mind that the photo had been Mickey’s.

He then lets Mickey mouth off for a while more about how he shouldn’t mess with his shit before slowly walking over and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He knows his boyfriend loves it, and he feels just that much more grateful that he found his way back to Mickey after discovering the print he’d hidden.

Mickey frowns in slight confusion after Ian’s pulled away. ‘The fuck was that for?’

Ian grins and, whilst still cupping Mickey’s face with one hand, reaches into his back pocket to brandish the photo in all its wrinkle coated glory. The muscles in Mickey’s jaw jump and he looks mortified.

‘I…’

‘You kept this?’ Ian asks, voice quiet.

Mickey gulps and then looks off to the side, avoiding Ian’s eyes. ‘Stole and then kept, actually.’

Ian chuckles and turns the picture back around so he can scan over the folds Mickey’s made again. ‘From Mandy?’

He nods slowly and watches Ian look at the photo, the corners of his mouth turning up. ‘Figure she already had a load of ‘em already. Wouldn’t miss it… I mean, yeah, whatever.’ Mickey clicks his tongue and glances away again, nibbling his bottom lip self-consciously. Ian smiles and puts the photo down on top of one of the piles of boxes he’s left out.

‘Are you sure she didn’t miss it? It’s a pretty fucking hot photo.’

Mickey rolls his eyes and grins, letting Ian pull his fingers through Mickey’s hair and then rest at the back of his head. ‘It was alright, I guess.’

Ian leans in and places a more firm, heated kiss on Mickey’s lips. Immediately, Mickey lets Ian’s tongue in and starts to breathe more heavily, sighting where this is going. Ian begins to grin into the kiss, sucking at Mickey’s bottom lip and backing towards the newly cleared bedroom.

‘You fuckin’ cleaned in here, too?’ Mickey grumbles into Ian’s mouth as he gives the room a quick once over before giving Ian his full attention again. There’s no annoyance in his tone, he seems to have dropped the frustration somewhere in the space between entering the house and Ian kissing him.

‘Purple looks good on you,’ Ian says instead of addressing his work, because he’s focused on this now, he _just_ wants to focus on Mickey, not what he’s done to everything outside of them.

They quickly rid each other of their clothes and soon they’re falling back against the bed but Ian’s calmer this time, he feels more in control, it feels less urgent. When he peppers kisses across Mickey’s skin, he knows this is different, he knows this is it, and he knows Mickey cares. It’s different. Why else would he have kept the photo? Mickey _cares_.

When they’re finished, they pant as they lay next to each other under the rumpled sheets that are draped across Mickey’s previously made bed and Ian feels as close to satisfied as he has been in a long time.

‘ _Fuck_ , Gallagher.’ Mickey’s eyes are closed and Ian’s hand rises and falls with Mickey’s breathing as it rests on his chest. Ian smiles and then a thought pops into his head. As Ian rises from the bed, Mickey’s eyes snap open. ‘Where you goin’?’

Ian doesn’t answer and just reaches into the back pocket of his jeans, pulling out the Polaroid and taking it back into bed with him. He lies down and holds it in the air above them so Mickey can see it.

‘Who’s this, Mickey? Another half-sister you neglected to tell me about?’ Ian’s tones jokey but he cuts it out as soon as he sees Mickey’s expression. He sits up against the pillows and then trails his fingers down Mickey’s arm, linking hands with him and being just that little bit surprised – as is with every time Mickey accepts affection – when he clasps Ian’s hand back just as hard. ‘What is it?’

‘It’s, uh…’ Mickey presses his lips together and then looks back up at Ian. ‘That's my mom.’

Ian lifts his eyebrows. ‘Your mom?’

‘Yeah. She died a while back, think Mandy told you, right? It’s the only picture I got of her. Terry burned the rest when she kicked it... Not that there were even fucking many then.’

The way Mickey speaks about it in quite a cold tone makes Ian think about how he’s probably hiding a lot of his emotions from him.

‘That fucking sucks. I’m sure you miss her.’

Mickey sighs in an irritated way, any afterglow that had remained disappearing. ‘Don’t make this a bigger fuckin’ deal than it is. It was a while back, alright? Not like I really got to know her or anything,’ Mickey says defensively, shuffling uncomfortably and releasing Ian’s hand in favour of picking at the bed sheets.

Ian bites his bottom lip and watches Mickey avoid his gaze. Eventually he lets the photo drop against the mattress and snuggles closer to his boyfriend, resting his head against his bare shoulder and sliding his arm around his torso.

‘I’m, uh… I’m here, you know. ‘F you wanna talk about it. ‘Bout her.’

Mickey looks a little shocked at this but soon composes his features and lets out a long breath of air. ‘I’m a’right. Really, I didn’t know her too well. She just… Helped. Dealin’ with Dad ‘n shit. And I guess it's nice to just have a picture to look at. Fuck. Uh. Thanks… though…’ Mickey replies, pausing before tentatively reaching over to bury his hand in Ian’s unkempt hair.

They lie together and something feels better between them. It feels more normal, because although the house is cleaner that it’s ever been and Mickey’s still unsure of how to deal with Ian’s behaviours at their extremes, they can hold each other and know the other’s there.

**Author's Note:**

> [Still taking prompts... and slowly making my way through the ones I've already got](http://southsidemilkovich.tumblr.com)


End file.
